


Tidal Lock

by solonggaybowser



Series: Weightless [2]
Category: Hylics (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Other, Post-Hylics 2, Trans/Nonbinary Characters, autistic characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27593822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solonggaybowser/pseuds/solonggaybowser
Summary: They're so sure this can only end in heartbreak... but sometimes, the stars do align in one's favor.
Relationships: Dedusmuln & Pongorma, Dedusmuln & Somsnosa, Dedusmuln/Wayne
Series: Weightless [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023576
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> ok well. i had intended for the previous fic to be a oneshot but uh, i got more ideas? i guess??? so here we are
> 
> many thanks to goat [[tumblr 1](https://onyourgoat.tumblr.com), [tumblr 2](https://lingermylingen.tumblr.com)] who provided valuable assistance, insight, support. and hey, while i'm here linking things, come [tell me](https://brainshock-alpha.tumblr.com) your headcanons if it strikes your fancy
> 
> edit 1/1/2021: minor changes and additions to both chapters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains a brief reference to drug/alcohol use; a minor hylics 2 gameplay spoiler; and one (1) suggestive line

Dedusmuln sweeps their gaze once more over the photographs covering the table.

Some of the Wayniforms shown are simply natural phenomena, they'd wager: bits of the landscape that happened to erode into the shape of two horns. Then there are crescent-topped urns and figurines that offer more intriguing implications. The most tantalizing pair of pictures, though... They pick up one of them, a distant view of two spires of rock emerging from the sea, hovering between them in the night sky the twinkling cluster of debris that had once been a moon. In their other hand they take the second photo, a closer look at the same location in daytime, revealing that the stone horns curved beneath the water to join at a base.

They put the photos down and sigh.

Across the table, knight-errant Pongorma, respectfully silent during their contemplation, at last says, "My work is unsatisfactory."

The ever-level intonation of his sepulchral voice fails to hide his disappointment from Dedusmuln. They reassure him, "No, not at all! Quite the contrary, I couldn't have asked for a better collection. I'm only thinking about, you know, the logistics of such an expedition..."

"Ah. Well, better to go now while it's cold and dry, rather than cold and wet."

"Yeah, that's my biggest concern," they muse, staring at the paired photos. "I'd have to seriously fast-track it to get there before winter sets in—if I decide to do it at all. ... Oh, what am I saying? I surely will." They sigh at the prospect of writing a great many emails tomorrow morning—and then look to Pongorma, lightening up. "Nevertheless, thank you, my friend. This was hardly the foremost purpose of your trip, yet you've gone to great lengths to help me."

"Think nothing of it."

"Say, what will you do now that you're back?"

"I'm not yet certain." He folds his arms and exhales quietly. "To be frank... the same inertia that kept me sessile in that old vault through the years... may be surfacing anew."

"Well, you've been questing ceaselessly since Gibby was felled, haven't you? Think you've more than earned a rest. I'm happy to offer you a space in my abode, but try asking Somsnosa about her own apartment first. She has a television."

"Hmm. Perhaps I shall."

At this point Dedusmuln thinks to check the clock, and goodness, they're glad they did. "Oh dear, is that really the time?" they say, gathering the photographs, regardless taking care to sort them into neatly-clipped piles.

"You've an appointment?" asks Pongorma as he stands up to lend a hand.

"Something like that. I'm terribly sorry. Truthfully, it's not for a little longer, but I've got to get prepared."

"What is it, if I may ask?"

"Oh, I'm just—" here they must pause, however briefly, to summon the wherewithal to speak his name— "meeting Wayne for dinner."

"Oh. I see."

"But don't—don't get the wrong idea," they're quick to tell him, punctuating with a nervous chuckle. "I-it's not a, date, or anything like that. We're just gonna, you know, meet up, as friends are wont to do—"

He lays a solemn hand on their shoulder, silencing them instantly. "It's okay to be in love." They just nod, unable to muster any sort of denial to him. He releases them and continues, "Although... Wayne... I can't say I expected that."

"Uh, why not?"

"He doesn't strike me as... your type. He is remarkably incurious."

"Oh, I don't know if I would phrase it so. It's more like he's, hmm, content to inhabit his own world. And I don't have a problem with that. God knows how fully _I_ get absorbed in my special interests." They laugh gently at themself, and their next words seem to happen of their own volition: "But he's sweet, in his own sort of way, don't you think? He always looked out for us when we were all traveling together, and he cares for his larva siblings..."

Pongorma actually starts laughing, a throaty chortle subtly reverberated in his helmet.

 _Why_ must they keep saying things like that...? They rub their neck, quite embarrassed. "Forget I said that..."

His tone is only warm when he responds, "Apologies, Dedusmuln, truly. I wish you the best of luck."

Presently without the heart to explain the depth of their reservations, they just smile and thank him.

"Certainly. Though, when you see him... I should inform you that he has acquired an unusually constructed pair of boots, with which he can—"

"Oh, no, no, I know. I'm aware."

"Ah. Very well."

* * *

They stop by Somsnosa's again, just for a bit. She insisted, and it's on the way—and maybe she can provide some direly-needed reassurance, too.

"Hey, Dedusmuln. You dressed up, huh?" she says as she lets them inside.

"Did I? I thought I was attiring myself more casually," they say, glancing down at their cardigan and button-up. They miss the comforting weight of their doctoral armor and sword, but somehow they doubted those were appropriate for the occasion.

"I dunno, it's sorta dressy for what we're—like, what Wayne and I are used to, but I mean... Where did you say you're taking him, again?"

"Oh, I didn't. I let him decide where we're eating." She purses her lips. "... What's that look for?"

"Okay, I'm not saying you goofed up already, but it's just... he has no standards. Ugh, he's gonna take you to a chip shop or something for your first date."

At the final word, their horns twitch peevishly (and, behind them, their face warms). "First of all, it's not a _date_."

"It kind of is."

"We're not dating, so it's _not_ a date. And second of all, what does it matter where we go? Isn't the most important thing that we enjoy each other's company?"

"That's, like, the most generous possible way of looking at it. Oh my god, you're too good for him; you're too good for all of us!"

"What? Don't say that. I'm not better than any of you."

"Mmm, you kind of are, though? Like, think about it!" she implores them before they can object again. "We're a bunch of weirdos! Pongorma's a million-year-old grandpa; Wayne's this weird bug who crawled out of the afterlife to get raised by this, like, monastic order of _assassins_?? And you've already seen what a schlub I am! But then we got _Doctor_ Dedusmuln over here—"

For some reason, it's the off-campus utterance of their title that's the final straw. "Somsnosa, I came here for help. You told me you were gonna help me," they say, their exasperated hands gesturing sharply between them, "so is that what this is?? Is that what's going on right now?"

She shrugs her broad shoulders and concedes, "All right, I guess. But I'm just sayin'. His loss if he doesn't say yes."

"You're very kind. Let's move on though."

"Well, have a seat then," she says, motioning to the couch. "You want anything? Snacks, drinks? I know you're having dinner soon, but."

They sit themself stiffly on the edge, Somsnosa more easily lounging next to them. "I'm good, thanks. I'm not really hungry anyway."

"Nervous?"

"To say the least." With each passing minute, of which there are distressingly few left until their not-a-date, the feeling that they're about to make a terrible mistake creeps closer upon them. The ends of their horns wilt as they admit, "I don't know if I can do this," with a half-hearted laugh, like that makes what they're saying any better.

Her disappointment is barely contained. "Yo..."

"I know, I know, but I didn't really think about how... how I would have to be in his _actual physical presence_ , and then _use my words_ to tell him about my feelings! ... Okay, when I put it that way it sounds really stupid, but—"

"No, no, I get it, believe me. Are you sure you don't want me to just, like, tell him for you?"

They exhale heavily. A way out, and how tidy it would be, too. But, unhappily, they must tell her, "Yes, I'm sure. I did swear."

"That's true... Why did you do that?"

"Uhhh, you asked me to."

She sighs too and rubs her face, hissing a swear of a different sort into her hand. "I did, didn't I? Sorry."

"It's fine... I've made my bed and I'll lie in it."

"Hmmm. Well, look, I dunno about you but I've always found that, like... as impossible and intimidating as it might seem right _now_ , once you see them and start talking to them and get the ball rolling, it's not as bad as you thought. And hey, it's Wayne! He's already your friend, and the Waynes are like, the easiest people to talk to on the entire planet."

"Ha, I suppose so..."

Maybe she's right. They haven't had a real conversation with him since they all went their separate ways after the victory concert. It may well be that their lovesick daze made them forget what it's actually like to talk to him, and—wait, that's bad, that's _bad_. That just means it's all the more likely they'll be an absolute disaster around him, oh _no_...

None the wiser to their inner turmoil, Somsnosa continues, "You know, one time I got wasted and rambled at him about the plot of my favorite game for, like, a whole hour; he ate that up."

"Did he really?"

"Sure did. I mean, in the way that he does: sits there and just vibes with the words coming outta your mouth."

"But how do you know he's not listening out of politeness? Or he's not simply enjoying the sound of, you know, your radio show voice?"

She giggles at the compliment and says, "Well, he tries to be polite but he doesn't try _that_ hard."

"How can you _tell_? He emotes so little and—I already have trouble reading people, but he's—"

"Look, Dedusmuln," she interrupts as kindly as possible, "I think you're psyching yourself out pretty bad here. Just take a step back, yeah? Ask yourself... what's the worst that could happen? He turns you down, and that's it. Don't get me wrong, that's still awful, but it'll pass—"

"Actually, the worst that could happen is, I bungle it so hard, he no longer wants anything to do with me."

"Oh, that's not gonna happen, don't worry," is her breezy reply.

"... How can you be sure?"

"Well, because _I'm_ still his friend, even though..." They're disconcerted to see her good spirits fade so quickly, crimson eyes downcast. Regret leadens her words: "I used to be, sort of, really mean to him. Back when we shared an apartment."

"Oh, um, really?"

"Y-you don't have to act surprised," she chuckles weakly, though it was no act: for all that she loves to tease and sass her friends, they can't imagine her doing it with real malice. "The point is... what it must take to drive him away... I don't think you'd go anywhere near that far."

There is little time to reflect on that statement; as if she herself is loath to dwell on the memories, she hurries along to another, lighter topic.

"You know what? Here's something that might help. Well, it's only a theory—sorry, a 'hypothesis'—" she does air quotes with a knowing smile, at which Dedusmuln scoffs fondly— "but let me tell you, I've been squeezing this stone _dry_ of hemolymph over the past eight years. ... Hrm, and saying that out loud just instantly aged me another eight years. But anyway.

"He's... uh... actually not that dense."

"Yeah, I know that." There's plenty of evidence for it; they most vividly recall the Foglast television, with the whole crew let down that they forked over so many bones for such a niche gesture—except for Wayne, the cursed gloves already on his hands.

"But I mean, it's more like... he's willfully vacant...? Is that right?" she asks herself, pinching the bridge of her nose. "God, I've never had to articulate this before. What I'm getting at is... If he looks like he's not paying attention when he probably should be, there might be some kind of, you know, non-obvious reason for it. Like... maybe he doesn't want to get involved for some reason, or there's something bothering him. Maybe he's just tired, I dunno; stuff like that. Does that... make sense?"

"It does, it does," they assure her. In fact, they can relate quite strongly, particularly from their youth.

"Okay, good. Like, I know he's usually a little more animated around us anyway, but, hey, maybe it'll help."

"Well, thank you. I really am grateful for all your support... even if you apparently can't resist being cheeky at the same time," they pretend to gripe, their horns finally starting to lift.

Somsnosa laughs, perfectly happy to play both angel and devil. "What are friends for, huh?" Then she grins at them in a manner they don't clock as suspicious until it's too late. "Hey, if it works out, you'll be over the moon in more ways than—"

They get up and make for the exit. " _And_ that's all the time I have for today; thank you _so_ much for having me over."

Her delighted cackle follows them to the door.

And before Dedusmuln must step outside and go to whatever fate awaited them that evening, she claps a hand to their back and asks, "You ready?"

"More so than before. But no."

When she smiles this time, it's soft and sympathetic. "You'll be all right, mate, one way or another. But you gotta be real with him; that's where it has to start."

"Yeah," they say, with a resigned nod. "Well, I'll let you know how it goes."

"Can't wait. Godspeed, buddy."


	2. Treatise

They're a little early.

The evening is pleasantly cool as Dedusmuln sits on the bench, the city already lit up around them in the fading twilight. Their thumb occupies itself with the spinner ring on their finger, an essential companion whenever they need to wait around for something. They try to relax while they still can, but each time they pick up on the sound of wheels rolling on pavement, they're jolted back into alertness, looking for the source. A bit disappointed and a bit relieved when it turns out not to be the one they're waiting for.

Until it does.

The mere sight of him, even at a distance, has an immediate effect on them. Their pulse quickens and their face warms, and they wring their hands, their nervous energy too great to be vented by their ring. Wayne... always more beautiful than they remember him. Those placid yet mysterious violet eyes, the slender figure wrapped up in that cool pleather outfit, the easygoing demeanor he now exhibits even on his wheel-boots... Despite his lunar form, in their eyes he outshines the sun itself.

And now they must approach him without burning up. There's an ancient myth about something like this, they dimly recall; they can only hope tonight ends better than that did.

They put away the ring and stand up once he's near. "Evening, Wayne."

"Hey. You ready?"

"Yeah." He leads the way to wherever dinner will be tonight. "Um, you're very good with those boots now."

"Thanks. Wear 'em all the time."

"Ah, that'll do it. Was it difficult, at first?"

"Kinda. Never died for it, at least." He pauses as though he has more to say—and it turns out to only be, "You look nice."

They laugh shyly, "Oh, thank you."

"Yeah."

He thinks they look nice! If they blushed any harder, it would surely be visible through their horns. On impulse they straighten their sleeves, the fabric between their fingertips just slightly calming.

He goes on, "How you doin' tonight?"

"I'm good. How about you?"

"Fine. Been looking forward to this."

"Oh, you hungry?" they ask ingenuously.

"Hm? Yeah, I guess I am." The two of them round the corner, and he points down the street and says, "That's where we're going."

It takes a second to follow where he's pointing. "The... hot dog stall?"

"Yep. Is that okay with you?"

"Of course. Really, anywhere's fine as long as we're together."

"You think?"

"Yeah."

"Hm."

He says nothing more. It doesn't trouble them, as they know well that he'll fall silent when it suits him. He glances off to the side then at the ground, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. They take a good look at his hand—oh, how close it is; how they long to take it in theirs—before forcing their gaze ahead of themself. Never mind how much he would or wouldn't care about being stared at; for the sake of _their_ dignity, they won't allow themself to ogle him so brazenly.

Although it's hard not to. Especially while they're both in line, Wayne the absolute picture of cool as he stands with his arms crossed, staring into the distance and rolling a heel gently back and forth.

Does he _know_ that he's hot?

"How many dogs you want?" he asks, which stops them in time from boarding _that_ train of thought.

"Oh—er—just one."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Well... let me know if you want another one later."

Now why would they need to...? "I'm... ordering separately, right?"

"Nope."

The flat denial blindsides them. "What—? Yes, I am," is their feeble objection.

"Nah. Don't worry about it."

Before they can say another word, he steps forward to the counter, where the mollusc-headed worker greets him by name. "Howdy, Wayne. What can I getcha?"

"Three dogs, please, with everything. And..." He turns to Dedusmuln and asks, "You want a drink?"

"Well, I can get—"

He turns back. "And two drinks." The bones are already on the counter. Dedusmuln's frustrated sigh fails to move him, if it is even heard at all.

"See," they say, once they've sat at a nearby table with their food, "now I owe you. So we're gonna have to go out again sometime later."

All he says to that is, "Okay." And the way he says it, it's like he's already looking forward to it...

No, no, clearly they're reading too much into his single-word response. What else can they do as the two of them eat in silence? Ordinarily the silence would be a comfort, each enjoying the other's company without any tiresome compulsion to speak, yet tonight it makes them want to squirm, mentally if not also physically. They try to focus instead on their hot dog, biting small, measured chunks from it; that barely helps at all. If they could just find the nerve to start talking, that might make it easier to tell him... eventually...

But to their surprise, it's him who strikes up a conversation first.

"What've you been searching for lately?"

"Oh, well... currently it's not any one artifact in particular, but... haha, um, it's, a little awkward to explain to you."

"How's that?"

It is with some apprehension that they describe their recent investigations into Waynology, taking great care to clarify their purely academic interest in what are clearly some fascinating anthropological questions. Through it all, they keep a close eye on him and try to gauge what he's thinking. Which they can't: he only listens impassively while he eats his hot dog. So far this is in line with Somsnosa's prediction from the other day, though they take little comfort from it. Still waters run deep, after all. Who can truly know what his feelings are?

"... and, yeah. That's about it so far," Dedusmuln finishes up.

Wayne says nothing as he focuses on peeling back more of the hot dog wrapper. Then, before he takes a bite: "You really wanna research that stuff?"

... Is he offended? Or passing judgment? Neither his tone nor his expression provide any clues... So they simply say, "Yes, I do."

It's an anxious few seconds while he chews. But he seems only pensive when he does admit, "I've never thought about it... Neither have my siblings... or those who came before us. Probably."

"Is there some sort of taboo against it?" they ask, a bit worried. Though, Old Wayne would have mentioned such a thing, right?

"Huh? No, but it's just not something we're concerned about. Like, it's... foreign to me, that you're interested in these kinds of things. But I like that about you."

"Y-you do?" 

"Yeah."

He turns his attention to his second hot dog, seeing no need to explain further. Not that it matters one bit to Dedusmuln, horns happily aloft: they'll be basking in the glow of what he said for days afterward. This is definitely going to be the highlight of their evening, they already know.

"You sure you won't want another hot dog?" says Wayne, interrupting their reverie.

"What's that?"

"Are you sure y—"

"Oh, I'm good, thank you," they tell him hastily, a little embarrassed. They clear their throat. "So what're you up to these days?"

"Mostly just work at the Waynehouse," he's content to explain. "You'd think Old Wayne would let up on the training now, but nah; if anything, he's doubled down. Says it 'builds character' or something, I dunno. So I help with teaching the others, and we're working on renovating the house too."

"Sounds like it keeps you busy."

"Yeah. It's not so bad though. Waynes fall in line pretty easily in the collective."

"Not individually as well?"

"Not as much. Especially the newly-eclosed. Separated from the others, they tend to be, you know... a mess."

"Really? You've always seemed pretty put-together to me."

"Hm. How long ago did we meet? Six years?"

"That sounds about right." My, how time flies. They had been surprised by Somsnosa's eight years of acquaintance, but it turns out that they're not so far behind.

"Yeah, uh, don't take this the wrong way but you weren't looking hard enough."

"No, you're right; I wasn't."

"At least you weren't around when me and Somsnosa were living together. Honestly? Kind of a trainwreck. You can ask her about it. ... Or actually, don't," he amends, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "But the funny thing is, this is all building up to us one day setting off on our own anyway."

"Yes, I was wondering, what _will_ the others do when they've finished training? They'll leave?"

"At some point or another. No particular destination in mind, just washing ashore wherever. A lot of the time, they don't even mean to leave; it just... happens."

Subconsciously they lean in, eager to learn from him. "Is that characteristic of Waynekind as a whole? Have previous generations scattered themselves so?"

"I think so. Well, not all of us do it. Some of us gotta stay home and mind the larvae that come earthside. And the young imagos too."

"Of course, of course. And the ones who leave, do they come back?" they can't help asking—before they finally remember themself. "Oh, god, I'm sorry; I—I shouldn't be conducting research while we're on a—..." Damn it, they were about to say it. It's not a frickin' date!

"Nah, it's cool," he says, wholly unfazed. "I don't mind. Uh, it's just that... I don't know the answer to that one. I'm actually one of the oldest imagos at our house, and the only one so far who finished training. I think the last time anyone left was..." He considers it for a moment, but then he changes his mind; for what reason, they can't discern from his face. "Actually, you know what, yeah. Let's talk about it later."

"I'm sorry," they say again, sighing. "I got rather carried away there, didn't I?"

"Don't worry about it. You really are into this stuff, huh?" he remarks, not unkindly, at which they laugh sheepishly. "You know, uh, the airship larva pupated yesterday."

"Oh, did it!"

"Yeah."

"That's wonderful. I'm glad it's getting on well."

"Well, thanks for keeping an eye on it while I flew the ship."

"It was no trouble at all; I loved having it around. Oh, I even got it onto the couch so it could see outside, like you asked me to."

That gets an uncommon laugh out of Wayne, a soft chuckle that sets their heart aflutter. "Um, I don't remember asking you to do that and I also probably wasn't being serious?" he says, the smile lingering. "But that's cool. Thanks."

God, this is too much...! The warmth in their chest feels like it could melt them. They mumble out something like, "No problem," and listlessly they reach for their deactivated cola, having forgotten that only ice remained in the cup.

The two of them keep shooting the breeze long after they both finish eating. It's true: it _is_ easy to talk to him; it feels as natural and effortless as silence. (Plus, it doesn't hurt that they could listen to the dulcet tones of his voice forever.) Yet, somehow, there's just no right time to confess to him. The flow of conversation never allows for a smooth lead-in, and it seems ill-suited for a public area anyway—why on earth had they believed otherwise?

... Oh, forget it. There's no "somehow" about it, is there? It all boils down to them simply being too afraid to do it. Nothing wrong with being afraid, but... this stalling... They know it's absurd. Not for a second had they considered giving up that sword and backing out from their thesis defense, yet _this_ is what has them dragging their feet without end?

Well, perhaps so. Now it's time for Wayne to head back, and they will return home as well, disappointed, defeated. Yes, there is always next time—they had never promised exactly _when_ they would tell him, but they loathe using such circumventions, and regardless he's here right _now_ , and if they could simply _say_ it...

It does seem that he is nearly as reluctant about leaving as they are. "Wish I didn't have to go... It went by too fast."

By divine providence, they get an idea. They venture to suggest that they could accompany him back to the house, and again he agrees happily.

Together they make their way out of the city, though Dedusmuln's spirit is no less burdened. They've bought some time but not much of it. This is well and truly their last chance tonight.

Ultimately, it's a very simple task, they tell themself in a final attempt at encouragement. All they have to do is say some words and not pay attention to any of them as they do. And besides, Somsnosa's right; it's better if they just get this over with. They'll tell him about their feelings, and he'll say he's not interested or he doesn't understand, and then they can at last move on from this whole ordeal.

They take one last deep breath, clearing their mind as they exhale, a brief respite from any second thoughts that might distract their mouth from its job.

But just when they begin, "Um, Wayne—" _he's_ also starting with, "Hey—"

And, reflexively, they yield to him. "Oh, sorry, you go ahead."

"So have you ever needed to ask a question about something—like, _really_ needed to, but you don't wanna 'cause you'll probably look real stupid, and the longer you stay quiet, the more awkward—but also the more pressing it gets to ask, and eventually you gotta bite the bullet and—do you know what I'm talking about?"

"Oh, yes, yes, I am intimately familiar with this dilemma."

"Cool, okay. So, I've been feeling... pretty... weird, all throughout this night."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," they say with genuine sympathy.

"Yeah. Do you know what it means?"

"Well, weird in what manner?"

"Ummm, like, vertiginous, I guess? My mind gets kinda fuzzy, and, in my chest there's, like..." He gestures vaguely at the air and shrugs. "It's hard to describe."

Huh. Strange. Well, it doesn't seem like food poisoning. At least there's that, right? "I see. Um, and when did this begin, exactly?"

"Hmm... pretty much as soon as I saw you."

A sinking feeling sets upon them—and they suppress it straight away. He does not, he does not, he does _not_. Yet the merest shadow of the thought has disquieted them greatly, their horns surely ashen even in the dark of the evening. "Is that so," is their distant reply, their left hand trying to rest on the hilt of a sword that isn't there.

"Yeah. I was kind of waiting for it to subside, but it... hasn't. You think I might be, like, developing an allergy? That would be a bummer. I really like being with you."

They shove their hands into their pockets and extract them a second later—what the _hell_ do people do with their hands? "Um—uh, that—"

"Or wait," he interrupts, his composure unwavering, "maybe not; it happens when I just think about you, too. I dunno. What do you think?"

That same feeling returns, this time not sinking so much as sweeping them away in a flood. Maybe he _does_. Oh, god, what do they do? They hadn't prepared for this in the slightest—and neither had _he_ from the looks of it. "Well," they begin, in spite of their mouth turning to dust. "W-well, it could be a psychic affliction, as opposed to a hylic one. Or it might indicate—not to imply any degree of certainty—purely for the sake of example—" they force an anemic chuckle (it wasn't worth the effort)— "um, the possibility of, of romantic attraction. _Or_ —"

"Romance? I've heard about that."

Dedusmuln waits for him to continue. The anticipation is so keen that they feel like it might kill them. God, it better not. It would be _so_ embarrassing if they died now...

But he only says, "What were _you_ gonna say?"

"Me?" they breathe, mind filling with static.

"Yeah, we started talking at the same time and, you know."

Their body seems to speak of its own accord. "I think I'm in love with you."

Again his response is delayed. For goodness' sake, _please_ say something, they beg him silently.

"Okay, but seriously though—"

"Oh my god, I _am_ serious!" They stop walking and drop their head into their hands. "Sorry, I'm sorry; it's just that I-I feel so strongly about you." With their secret finally out, the floodgates are wide open for anything else to follow. They couldn't stop the rush of words if they wanted to. "Like, you're constantly on my mind. Just seeing your name—sometimes just seeing a crescent makes my heart skip a beat. You're strong and cool, and handsome, and you're so chill but you'll help people in need and fight for the world, and, _god_ , what can I do but adore you completely? Wayne..."

His silence now is the hardest to bear yet. When they look at him, he's standing several paces away, his back to them. With each passing second that he remains motionless and speechless, it becomes clearer and clearer that...

That they've got this all wrong.

Whatever Wayne's true feelings are, they're not what Dedusmuln assumed them to be. Oh, they've made an awful mistake. They should never have said anything at all... Their jaw tightens, their horns wither, they can barely keep from shaking. All along they've known this would be the ultimate outcome, and still it hurts so much more than they could have imagined.

But then they remember what she told them.

And as afraid as they are to have one last shred of hope...

They ask him, "What are you thinking about?"

His head turns in their direction, though not enough to see his face. "The weird feelings... have intensified." He turns around fully and faces them, and he takes a deep, shaky breath. "Greatly."

Can it be true...? The hope blossoms in their heart. "Is that a bad thing?"

"I... guess not. I don't usually have a lot of feelings, but these are actually kinda nice, you know?"

"I believe I do." They dare, finally, to approach him.

He keeps his eyes on them; has he ever before regarded them so intently? "Dedusmuln... you're pretty great too. And I like being with you. Uh, I said that already, didn't I? But... I want to... I, super don't know how to say this."

"That's okay. However you can express it."

"Can I be your partner? Like, romantically, and all that?"

Behind their horns, they're smiling softly. "I'd really like that."

He nods. "Cool."

"It _is_ cool," they laugh, lightheaded and... well, surely they're happy, at least on some level. Right now they can't quite seem to tell, certain only of a great dreamlike calm that filled the space where despair had been moments ago, settling over the whole of their being like a heavy blanket. "Oh, but it's a shame the night's already over..."

"Yeah," he agrees, the word tinged with disappointment. He even admits, "I'll miss you," which seems to trigger a realization in him. "I... I _did_ miss you. Like, a lot."

"Oh, Wayne, I missed you too."

Only upon saying it out loud do they, too, fully grasp the truth of it. They had missed him terribly over the past month or so. That was why they felt that odd hollow heartache when they were out in the field alone with those crescent-shaped monuments. And why they couldn't shut up about him whenever they spoke with their friends—always wondering how he was or what he was doing—come to think of it, that must be how the others caught onto their feelings so quickly...

His voice calls them gently back to the present. "Well... we're still together for now, aren't we?"

"Yes. You're right." No reason they can't enjoy the rest of their time together. And, in fact... "Maybe, for the rest of the way, we could, um, hold hands? I-if you want to, that is—"

"Sure."

He offers his hand. Tentatively, as if one false move would break the spell, they take it. Their hand rests lightly against his, until his fingers curl into a firm, comforting grip. And this already is a moment they wish could last forever... and then he says, "Oh, hold on," as he lets go of them, and he takes off his glove and reaches for their hand again.

They can't help but shiver at the touch of his bare hand, the sensation sparking some lucidity back in them. At last they ask themself, is this really happening? For so long they had believed anything like this unattainable. Maybe they blacked out or something earlier in the day and this is all happening in their mind. But... they doubt think they can so vividly imagine how it feels, in every sense of the word, to have his soft hand in theirs. This must be real. He's here. He's with them.

They're never gonna hear the end of it from Somsnosa.


End file.
